“Are you an author?” Dicey asked. She pushed in beside Michael.

“I am,” the man said. “History is my passion.”

“You’re not from around here.” Dicey laughed. “I like you.”

“I like you, too.” The man took one of the books from the shelf. “I’m researching my family and I traced them to Sullavan. I thought I’d see what else I could find…for my book.”

“Oh. You’re a writer?” Michael’s ears perked. Sullavan tended not to have the money to draw in writers for talks. Even if this guy wasn’t a big-name author, maybe he’d be willing to have a coffee time chat or something. “What do you write?”

“Novels.”

“Nice.” The guy wasn’t terribly forthcoming. Rats.

“I’m Tristan.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m researching the McCartney side of my family. Al was my uncle.”

Michael nodded and shook hands with Tristan. “I knew Al well. He liked to browse the westerns section. I think he read every one we have. He was a great man and I’ll miss him.”

Tristan’s eyes widened. “It’s nice to know someone who knew him.”

“I’ve got a few stories about him, but not many.” Michael sighed. “You’re welcome to whatever information you can find in the books we have. If you find things you want to take, you’ll have to make copies, which are a nickel each.” He’d given that speech so many times, he’d memorized the words.

“Copies?” Tristan tipped his head. “Those still exist?”

“Yes.” Who is this guy? “We’re a tad backwater, here in Sullavan. We haven’t branched out into all forms of technology."

“Copies,” Tristan said. “Huh.”

“Yes.” Michael fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I’ll leave you alone to your research. If you have any questions or need help, just ask. One of us will do our best to assist you.”

“Of course.”

Michael turned on his heel and left Tristan alone. Having new people coming to town wasn’t completely bizarre, but he wasn’t sure if he could trust Tristan. Al McCartney had been a fine, upstanding citizen. He’d never mentioned having a nephew and Tristan didn’t look a bit like Al. The story about doing genealogy work could be true, or a scam. He narrowed his eyes and kept his attention on Tristan. He didn’t trust the strange but handsome man. Not a bit.